


The Chalk Pit - Missing Smut from Chapter 27

by SigmaCreations



Category: Ruth Galloway Novels
Genre: Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:38:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10163210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: In the Chalk Pit, Elly Griffiths gives us one line to describe what happens between Ruth and Nelson. I didn't feel that was enough, so here is my take on what really went on upstairs. I don't own the characters (they belong to Elly Griffiths), but I love them, so I'm borrowing them for a bit. Reviews make my day. Cheers, S.C.





	

 

He stops the car and turns off the engine, turning to look at her.

“Would you like to come inside?” she asks.

“Yes,” is his simple reply.

They get out and walk to the door of her cottage. She sees Sammy at the window and waves, but she doesn't go next door to collect her daughter. She unlocks and opens the door, Nelson following her into her house and locking the door behind them.

She drops her keys back into her bag and leaves it on the floor by the stairs. She can feel him standing close behind her, and as she turns, his breath coasts over her shoulder and neck, warm and seductive. His eyes are incredibly dark as she reaches for his hand and slowly begins to mount the stairs. She feels no hesitation from him as he follows, past the life-size cut-out of Bones on the landing and into her bedroom.

Her bed is unmade, but she scarcely has time to notice, let alone feel embarrassed, before he pulls her towards him and his mouth comes down on hers. It always surprises her how soft his lips are, how well they mould to her own, how skilled they are and how good they feel against hers. Would it still surprise her if they were together, she finds herself wondering, if she'd kissed him a million times already?

“Ruth,” he murmurs between kisses, his right hand rising to cup her head, pulling her towards him.

She moans, parting her lips and drawing him closer, her arms slipping around his broad back, hands tugging his shirt out of his trousers, fingers dancing across his skin. His back is hard, full of muscle, in stark contrast to her own soft body and she loves it. She loves _him_ really.

She can feel his left hand on her hip, moving slowly, gingerly. She thinks he might be trying to tease her until they pull up for air and she leans back to unbutton his shirt, her gaze falling on the stain covering his left shoulder. So much blood. _Is there enough left_ , she finds herself thinking quite absurdly.

“Are you all right to...?” She leaves the sentence unfinished.

He scowls and drops both hands to her bum, pulling her suddenly against him. “Yes,” he growls and kisses her again, harder this time, wanting, demanding more. She obliges, feeling the hot tendrils of desire radiating out from her centre, her skin flushing with the heat of him, the feel of him swelling against her abdomen.

His hand is back in her hair now, drawing her closer as his lips leave her mouth, sucking, nipping her skin on their journey down her neck, her whimpers of pleasure filling the room. She tries to unbutton his shirt, but he finds the spot on her neck just under her chin and all coordination is suddenly lost. She's falling, her breath coming in pants, her hands fisting in his shirt, knees trembling, slowly turning to jelly.

“Nelson,” she breathes, back arching, pushing her body against his as she leans back, almost losing her balance and toppling over.

He chuckles, easily the happiest sound she's ever heard him make. “Easy, Ruth,” he murmurs, straightening up and pulling her with him. He's smiling, that soft, sweet smile she also glimpses so very rarely. His eyes are dancing with a joy she's not seen before, stealing her breath away.

“You have a beautiful smile,” she confesses softly.

“So do you,” is his reply.

He drops his gaze to the buttons of her borrowed scrubs and begins to unfasten them, pulling the material aside, his movements slow, hampered as he is by his injury. She takes pity on him and pulls it off herself, followed by the straps of her swimming costume, gathering the material at her waist. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes are hungry again, devouring her as she helps him remove his shirt.

She feels a little self-conscious. She's not beautiful like Michelle, and yet, he seems to want her anyway, seems to be inexplicably drawn to her, to be with her, to make love to her, and she can't help the way her heart fills with hope and joy. Perhaps this is their time. Finally.

Her fingers rise to stroke the hair on his chest as his right hand moves to her neck and shoulder, tracing the mark left behind by the straps of her swimming costume and gently cupping her breast, her eyes sliding shut at the sensation for a moment before she opens them again and tilts her head to kiss him. It's hungrier this time, harsher, the way he's kissing her, his stubble making her lips and skin tingle, and when they break apart for air, they both suddenly need more. Her hands make quick work of his trouser button and zip, tugging down on the waistband and letting them fall around his ankles. Then she removes her own trousers, neatly stepping out of them and her shoes, leaving them on the floor. _The linen's already creased beyond rescuing anyway_ , she finds herself thinking fleetingly.

Nelson follows her awkwardly and sits down on the bed, gingerly reaching down to untie his shoes – they won't slip off like her own. He grunts in pain and that decides her. She crouches down before him, pushing aside his hands as she quickly undoes the laces and pulls them off, followed by his socks and trousers. _Big feet_ , she thinks and smiles.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, pulling her towards him with one hand when she straightens, his mouth finding her stomach, tongue darting into her tummy-button and making her shiver. He kisses her, over and over, slowly moving lower as her hands slip into his short, greying hair, drawing him closer as he pulls her swimming costume down, tongue and fingers caressing her skin, stroking her heat, gently, surely, leading her on, spiralling up and up, the pleasure building, soaring, lifting her higher, heart thumping hard against her ribs, panting, her bones melting, trembling in his arms, knees buckling.

She gasps.

“Nelson,” she whispers, unable to remain on her feet any longer. Vaguely she recollects that he's injured, the awkward way in which he's bending his head to reach her, reminding her that she mustn't push him back onto the bed as she so desperately wants to. Instead, she turns and falls onto the bed beside him.

He doesn't hesitate to follow, standing to remove his underwear before climbing onto her bed and clumsily lying down beside her. He tries to stay on his side, facing her, but has to quickly give up, hissing at the pain as he collapses onto his back.

“Alright?” she asks, moving closer, fingers feathering across his cheek.

“Champion,” he replies, eyes opening to find hers.

She smiles, moving her fingers across his jaw then lifting them to stroke his eyebrow. She feels him attempt to lift his right hand, but her body is trapping it against his side, and his left is all but useless today, rising only as far as her shoulder.

He lets out an exasperated noise before saying gruffly, “Kiss me, Ruth.”

She obliges, lifting her body to allow him to free his arm and kissing his lips softly. “Poor Nelson,” she murmurs against them.

“Not so poor,” he replies before he pulls her head down and kisses her hungrily again.

She moans, pressing herself against him, allowing him to push his right leg between hers, his strong thigh pressing against her heat, making her whimper as she begins to grind herself against him. Her hand leaves his face, travelling along the plain of his chest to his abdomen, his breath escaping in a rush, muscles trembling below her fingertips as she nears his cock, his body tensing with anticipation. She skirts around it, teasing him, trailing her fingertips along his thigh and up again, still not touching, making him arch his back, muscles tense, straining towards her.

The first time she allows a fingertip to brush against him he groans and shudders, pulling her closer, his left hand tightening almost painfully on her hip, her own arousal growing at his reaction. She does it again, more firmly this time, running her palm up his length and feeling him twitch, his lips releasing hers as he moans her name. “Ruth.”

She doesn't normally like to be on top, in charge of the pace and the rhythm, in full view of her lover, all her flesh on display with nowhere to hide, but there's no way Nelson is up to the task of shagging her this time, and besides, there's something alluring about the prospect, something compelling in the thought of being in charge. She's always been the expert witness, never the one leading any of their professional interactions. It's not as if she needs his crime fighting skills to help her solve any archaeological mysteries. It's always the other way round.

So she carefully climbs on top of him, feeling his cock nestle between her legs, gliding her wet folds along his length a few times as she leans over him, watching his brow furrow with concentration as he fights for control. She smiles, her heart flooding with joy, her eyes full of the tender love that she suspects she's always harboured for him.

“Nelson,” she murmurs softly, watching him open his eyes, now almost black with lust. “Do you need me to slow down?” she asks.

He smiles, that soft, sweet smile again, his eyes clearing, a joyful, tender look in them as he replies, “Depends how long you want this to last.”

She wants to tell him always, wants to confess the depth of her feelings for him, but she doesn't think it would be fair. If he wants to leave Michelle for her and Kate, that's his choice and she doesn't want to influence him one way or the other. It's not her place, and if he does – she fervently hopes that he does – then she doesn't want him to have any reason to reproach her for it, blame her in the future. It has to be his decision and his decision alone.

She kisses him again, gliding along him, slower this time, back and forth until he suddenly tilts his pelvis and slips inside her, making them both groan. After that, there's nothing slow, nothing reserved about it. She tries not to hurt him, tries to remember to be careful, be controlled, but she's not sure it works out that way, his occasional hiss of pain or groan of agony filtering through the haze of lust and love and joy.

They pause to change position, Nelson taking the chair from the corner, dumping the clothes on it unceremoniously onto the floor and grabbing a pillow to sit on before he pulls her onto his lap, having her straddle him and slipping back inside her, the penetration so much deeper than before now he can push up from the floor.

“Jesus,” he groans, pulling her down harder, his face flushed, body perspiring with the effort of holding himself together.

She's close but not quite there, teetering on the edge of the precipice, edging ever closer, but her muscles are tiring now and she's not sure if she can manage to catch the elusive wave of her orgasm. But Nelson doesn't give up on her, the fingers of his left hand slipping between them, sweeping over her clit in long steady strokes until she tumbles over, crying out in ecstasy so great that she collapses against his right side, unable to move a muscle.

He gives her a moment to recover before he attempts to move again, struggling for a moment on his own before he urges softly, “Help me, Ruth. Please!” his accent more Northern than ever, his voice tinged with desperation.

She smiles lazily, lifting her head from his shoulder and turning warm, sated, blue eyes on his. “Now there's a surprise,” she murmurs. “I didn't realise you knew that word.”

He growls impatiently and attempts to lift her, a hiss of pain escaping him as he strains his shoulder.

“Don't, Nelson. Don't hurt yourself,” she says, feeling suddenly guilty.

She squeezes him inside her and begins to move again, her legs somewhat shaky, each brush of his hard flesh against her sparking a cascade of pleasure throughout her body. She whimpers, his harsh breaths filling the room as he nears his climax. The pleasure, the joy, the feeling of ecstasy that's building again is intoxicating and before she knows it, she's climbing another peak, her fingers slipping between them to help her over the edge as she feels him shudder suddenly below her and almost roar his release. She follows him, the surge of energy, the euphoria catching her unaware, the intensity so great that she has to gasp each breath, utterly overwhelmed by sensation.

Every time with Nelson has been special. Every time seems to have been infused with so much emotion and meaning and this is no different. And despite the fact that all her muscles are now utterly relaxed and limp, her facial muscles seem to be exempt and she can't seem to stop smiling. Her head is resting on his right shoulder again, her body slumped against him, and though he's not complaining yet, she knows she's heavy and that, in his current state especially, it must be hard work for him to support her weight even if he is rather tall and strong.

So she reluctantly lifts her head to look at him, the soft, sated look in his eyes making her smile broaden.

“Come to bed, Nelson,” she says, getting up and shaking out the covers before she slips into her bed and shuffles over, leaving plenty of room for him.

Nelson doesn't move, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches her, his forearms resting loosely on his thighs, legs parted, soft genitals on display. There's nothing particularly beautiful or remarkable about him, but she finds him incredibly attractive. _That's what love does to a person_ , she thinks. “If I come to bed, I'll fall asleep,” he murmurs.

“I'm sure a nap would do you good.”

“Perhaps, but I can't stay long.” His eyes look sad suddenly, the joy and tenderness slowly seeping away.

“I'll set the alarm to wake us,” she replies quickly, reaching for the alarm-clock.

He watches her fiddling with the knobs at the back before setting it aside again and turning to look at him. Then he smiles and gingerly gets up, moving over to the bed and lowering himself onto the mattress, a hiss of pain escaping him as he lies down.

“You alright?” she asks.

“Champion,” he replies.

 

 

 


End file.
